


A Canvas Splatter

by Ecinue



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Background Character Death, Blood and Violence, Blue Sonder AU, Colors, Dissociation, Fluff, Food, I forgot how to tag, Mentioned Beast Gang, i'm so tired ive been working on this for three weeks, mentioned Skeppy, no beta we die like 2020, why is food kink the second tag huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecinue/pseuds/Ecinue
Summary: The world is a canvas of colors. Everyone's soul is illuminated by a color. What color are you, young one?Tw//gore, dissociation, death, blood, insecurity, self-loathingBlue Sonder AU credit to @chewwypepsicola on Twitter.
Relationships: DreamWasTaken & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Eret & Fundy & Niki | Nihachu & Tubbo, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Tommyinnit & Phil | Philza Minecraft, too many to fucking tag fuck it
Comments: 24
Kudos: 183
Collections: Blue Sonder AU





	A Canvas Splatter

**Author's Note:**

> **I will add trigger warnings to the beginning of each section. Those without trigger warnings have no triggers as far as I'm aware of.** I am a tired child. Please read end notes.
> 
> THIS IS NOT CANON UNLESS ENE SUDDENLY SAYS SO!!! THIS IS MY INTERPRETATION OF SOMETHING IN THE BLUE SONDER AU!
> 
> Blue Sonder AU credit to @chewwypepsicola on Twitter. (See End Notes for a full explanation of the inspiration for this fic.)
> 
> Disclaimer: Please be aware that everything I write is fictional and by no means supposed to allude to what should really happen. I have no intention of making these creators uncomfortable and if any of the people mentioned here blatantly state that they are uncomfortable with this, I will immediately remove this work.

**1\. Tomatoes and Blood**

Red is a familiar color. His horns are red, his jacket is red, his memories of another world are red. In fact, Tommy feels incredibly at home with the color red, basking in its warmth. If anything, the color red is his signature color. Even the blanket in his room in the treehouse is red.

When he had first experienced cooking at Phil’s house, he was given a strange object, reminiscent to that of an apple. It was softer, much softer, and it had a green fern at the top. It was a strange object, a delicacy of sorts, and he had sunk his teeth into it, expecting it to be like an apple. It was a surprise.

It was sweet, much sweeter than any apple, and its juice splattered against his fingers. Techno and Wilbur had laughed at him but Phil merely chuckled and helped wipe the waste away from his mouth.

“Good, ain’t it?” Phil whispered.

Tommy nodded, confused at what this strange food was. He was only ever honest with Phil. “I...It’s new. I’ve never tasted anything like this.”

“Humans call this a tomato,” Phil explains, nodding at Tommy as the demon polishes off the rest of the fruit, leaving behind only the fern. “Albeit normally, they don’t eat it like that.”

Tommy flushes for a second but Phil only holds up a basket full of it, smiling. “It’s the perfect season for harvesting tomatoes. I’ll make some tomato soup to go with the bread.”

The demon’s eyes light up in excitement at the prospect of more food and Phil laughs whole-heartedly. “Really?! Does it taste better with soup?”

“Depends,” Phil muses. “Though you’ll have to help with the gardening later.”

That was okay. Gardening had to be worth the sweetness of these tomatoes.

_(Sometimes, Tommy hates the color red. He hates it, hates it, hates it._

_Blood is the color red and he does not like blood. As used as he is to see it on himself, he hates it when his friends and family are bleeding. When Techno bleeds, Tommy’s terrified. Techno’s powerful, an idol of sorts, but his power comes with fatal consequences. Perhaps that’s why the pink-haired demon trains so much._

_His blood is powerful but he’s literally bleeding; he’ll die if he loses too much._

_Tommy does not like seeing his family bleed. He saw Tubbo bleed once and he never wants to see that hideous crimson on the fallen angel ever again. He had been terrified that day, the red looking completely unnatural on Tubbo. He had wondered, wondered why the world was cruel and targeted Tubbo. He had been crouched, hovering over Tubbo’s body protectively, refusing to let anyone except Phil and later Niki near._

_Techno had said that he was feral, adamant about protecting Tubbo. Wilbur had said that Tommy didn’t register them as allies, mere enemies that would hurt Tubbo even further. Niki was not pleased that he had almost attacked her but Tommy did not care._

_Tubbo was worth her anger.)_

* * *

**2\. Tangerines and Fur**

Fundy likes the color orange. It's the only constant color he's had.

He’s always been a loner. He is a fox spirit and he hides in the forests of the overworld, acting like the mischievous spirit that he is, playing tricks on others. He shapeshifts to whatever fits his need at the time, whether it be a humanoid form to blend in the villages or a fox form to avoid the hunters. He’s smart, smarter than what anyone would take him for.

Niki brings him fruit in the color orange. It’s not an _orange_ but it’s close. It’s smaller, a little sweeter, and Niki is smiling when she hands it to him.

“Humans call it a tangerine,” She says. “Try it.”

Fundy takes it and he stares at it curiously. If it’s anything like an orange, then he would have to remove the outside skin. He peels the skin and pops the fruit into his mouth, savoring the citrusy fruit. It’s strange, very strange, and not entirely like an orange, but it’ll do.

“How is it?” Niki asks.

Fundy savors it for a moment before answering. “It’s sweeter than I expected.”

She laughs and he hopes that she didn’t catch the hitch in his breath when he had tasted the fruit.

_(How was he to explain to her that the tangerine was precisely the first fruit that he had ever tasted in his entire life? For as far as his memory went, he remembered that he used to live deep in the forest at a temple where there were more of his kind. There was another shapeshifter, a female who he saw as a maternal figure, and she had been nothing short of kind._

_“Here, Fundy,” She had called one day. “Try this human fruit. It’s not bad.”_

_He had scampered over quickly, popping the fruit into his mouth, savoring the tanginess of the citrus. “What is this?”_

_“I believe it’s called a tangerine,” The elder shapeshifter had said. “Do you like it?”_

_“It’s sweet!” Fundy had cheered, hugging her tightly before joining his fellow kits at the playground._

_Perhaps he had been young at the time and despite hearing the conversation, he never truly understood the meaning of what his maternal figure and the elders were saying. All he recalled was the conversation itself and it wasn’t until decades, centuries, later, when he was alone and scared, that he recalled the conversation._

_That temple had been their home. It was their last and only home._

_Humanity took it away from them.)_

_(“You coddle that kit too much, Sally.”_

_The female shapeshifter watched her boy run around before turning to face the elder. “How is that so, Vixen? I am merely watching over my child. Is that not a sane thing to do?”_

_“If he grows too dependent on you, he will not survive,” Vixen hisses. “This temple can only last so long before the humans find it. The other strongholds have been overtaken already; these kits will need to learn how to fend for themselves when the inevitable arrives.”_

_“He will adapt,” Sally says coldly. “He is my child after all.”_

_"You place a lot of faith in him considering that you barely escaped with your life from your previous stronghold.”_

_With a snarl, Sally rises to face Vixen, her six tails flurrying behind her as her fur bristled, fangs emerging. Vixen cowered slightly, her eight tails looking meek in comparison. Albeit an elder, Vixen knew how deadly Sally was. After all, the younger shapeshifter had a record of slaughtering humans that came after her kit._

_“Never speak ill of my kit again,” Sally says, ice oozing off of her words. “My kit will survive. Even if we all die and our species slowly head to extinction, that boy will survive.”_

_“And if he doesn’t?” Vixen gulps._

_Sally’s eyes glint._

_“Then I will do everything in my power to slaughter that boy’s killer, even if I have to come back from the dead.”)_

* * *

**3\. Cakes and Sunlight** (TW//Death)

There are many shades of yellow.

Niki’s hair is yellow. The blonde color is embedded in her roots and it refuses to change. She was created with this color on her scalp and thus, it stays. Sometimes, when they’re relaxing in the cottage, one of the boys, usually Tubbo or Fundy, will come over and braid her hair. Eret would try but often give up, lamenting their lack of sight. Fundy would come over and help Eret, guiding the angel’s hands as they plaited her hair.

The color of the honey bees that float around outside has yellow stripes on their body. Often, in the mornings, Tubbo would wake up, gasping from a nightmare, and wander outside, admiring the insects. Sometimes, when Niki wakes up, she watches from the doorway as Tubbo adorns a soft smile, happily holding flowers up for the bees. It’s only sometimes that her chest aches as she wishes that Tubbo had been able to enjoy a happy life. Anything would’ve been better, absolutely _anything_ that wasn’t being an angel.

The batter of the cakes that she bakes are a pale yellow, a sickly yellow, but it is yellow nonetheless. She bakes and she bakes and she bakes, a distraction from all of the troubles in the world. She bakes cookies, soft cookies, for Tubbo, anything to see the boy happy. She makes honey tea for Eret, a soothing blend that she finds the other angel nursing when it’s four in the morning and he can’t sleep. She makes lemon cake and honey for Fundy when he wants to try something new, something that doesn’t dredge up memories of his times before he met them. She bakes pies for holidays, something to pass time.

She doesn’t bake anything for herself. There is no need to bake for herself. The smiles on her friends’ faces satisfy her enough.

_(Rays of sunlight are a beautiful yellow, golden even, as they shine down upon the earth. There’s a day where Niki finds herself standing in a meadow, alone, with nothing except the corpses of angel hunters to call company. They beam down on her as she pants, her golden bow of light at her side._

_The dead angels bleed silver, a hideous metallic color that she shares. She despises it and she wonders why they were given silver blood instead of golden blood. It infuriates her to know that she shares the same blood as these vermin. She hates it._

_The sunlight is golden and it shines, caressing her with its warmth. She takes a deep breath and exhales shakily, cleaning the hideous silver off her bow and clothes, getting ready to return to the cottage._

_She has a cake to bake.)_

* * *

**4\. Green Apples and Kelp** (TW//Blood, Mild Gore)

“Good morning, Dream!”

Dream glances up to see Karl at the kitchen counter, awake surprisingly early considering how much the human sleeps. “Morning, Karl. What are you doing?”

“Robbing George’s pantry!” Karl chirped, digging through some stuff. “Want an apple?”

“...sure.”

Karl tossed a green object over and Dream caught it, inspecting it with severe suspicion. “What is this?”

“Hm? It’s an apple!”

“It’s green!” Dream protested, holding the object up. “I thought that apples were red!”

“They can be green too!” Karl laughs. “There are yellow apples too!”

Dream rolls the apple around his hand, muttering underneath his breath. “The overworld is so strange.”

“Just try it. You’ll like it.”

Dream grimaces before turning away from Karl, shifting his mask slightly and biting into the hard fruit. Karl looks away, understanding his friend’s disliking for people seeing his face, and awaits Dream’s reaction. Dream chews slowly and thoughtfully, blissfully surprised by the sourness.

“It’s sour,” Dream says quietly, swallowing. “It tastes nothing like an apple.”

“That’s a green apple for ya!” Karl laughs boisterously before forking out a piece of bread and cramming it into his mouth for breakfast. Dream doesn’t think that he’ll ever understand why Karl likes eating bread with nothing on it. “Just wait until you try limes.”

“Oh, I know what those taste like.” Dream shudders as he shifts his mask back into place. “George was making something and I was a fool and decided to taste the lime. Worst mistake of my life, second only to underestimating Technoblade.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s _sour_.”

“Well, obviously!”

Dream burst into laughter, wheezing slightly and holding onto his waist. Karl smiles before joining in on the laughter.

“H-Hey, Dream,” Karl calls in between laughter. “What if we make Sapnap eat a lime?”

“...HELL YEAH!”

_(Dream stood at the banks of the shore, watching as fish swarmed around in the water, strategically weaving through the pillars of kelp. Sometimes, he wondered how simple it would be to be a simple fish or even a simple piece of kelp. Surely, it had to be easier than being a demon, let alone a disgraced demon._

_He wades into the water and picks up a piece of kelp, humming quietly as he rolls it over in his hand. It’s wet, limp, and it feels nothing like the vegetables that George would wash to use for dinner. It’s strange but it feels natural._

_A bright chirp sounds and he looks up sharply to see a dolphin arching through the air, chirping at him. He smiles and wades a little deeper, holding the kelp out. The dolphin squeaks, swimming up to him and taking the kelp before chirping again. Dream laughs, bright and unburdened, and goes to get more kelp. As he holds a new piece, he hears a shout._

_“Dream!”_

_He looks up sharply to see Sapnap and suddenly, the world is crumbling away. The soft beach fades away, the dolphins gone, replaced with the crimson depths of Hell. Sapnap’s standing there, blood dripping from his lips, tears of blood trickling down his cheek._

_“Dream.” Sapnap croaks. “Help me.”_

_Dream tries to move but he can’t and he can only watch as Sapnap’s appearance contorts even more._

_“Dream!” Sapnap wails. “Dream!”_

_What could he do?! He can’t do anything._

_“Dream!”_

_He wakes up in his bed at George’s house, gasping and retching. There’s someone’s hand on his back, patting gently as he dry-heaved. For a moment, his hands reach up to tangle themselves in his hair, gripping onto his horns to make sure that they’re still there._

_He’s not in hell anymore but it still haunts him.)_

* * *

**5+6. Watermelons, Kiwis, and Forests**

His entire home is a deep green and Phil wouldn't have it any other way.

Summer is a lovely season when it’s not absolutely scorching. Summer is the ideal season for fruits, really, and an ideal summer to spend with friends and family. Relaxing by the lake, sitting in the shades, it’s all rather fun if you asked him. Rather _humane_ , of course, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“PHIL!”

Well, it was certainly louder in comparison to the previous summers. He had three kids now, _four_ if he counted Tubbo. Spinning around, Phil was greeted with the lovely sight of Wilbur wrestling Tommy and Techno standing off to the side, the pink-haired demon munching on a potato. Niki watched in slight amusement and slight disapproval whilst Tubbo cheered for Tommy. Fundy and Eret stood off to the side, chattering in quiet voices.

“What’s going on?” Phil asked amusedly. “I look away for two seconds and Wilbur’s already trying to kill Tommy.”

“The gremlin stole my beanie!” Wilbur roared, swiping at Tommy’s head to which the latter avoided.

“It was funny!” Tommy bellowed, kicking Wilbur off and making a mad dash for the farm.

“NOT MY POTATOES!” Techno panicked, quickly hightailing after them.

Tubbo laughed in delight and Phil found himself smiling along. “Well, considering they’re busy, do you want to be the first to have access to the watermelons, Tubbo?”

The young angel glanced up sharply, apprehension in his eyes. “Me? Watermelon?”

Phil nodded and led Tubbo inside, nodding at Niki as he passed her. She seemed to get the message and quickly swooped over to Eret and Fundy, striking up a conversation with them.

“Watermelons are a fruit that humans eat during the summer generally,” Phil explains when they enter the treehouse, gesturing to the circular green object on the kitchen counter. “They’re rather sweet. I’m sure you’ll like them.”

He quickly cuts a few slices and offers one to Tubbo in which the angel gingerly takes.

“It’s good!” Tubbo exclaims before rushing off, most likely to find Tommy.

Phil smiles before going to grab the kiwis from the iced storage. Smoothies wouldn’t hurt.

“Phil!” That was Techno. “Where is the rest of this _watermelon_ thing?”

“Here!” Phil held up the plate of watermelon to which Techno took quickly. “I’ll make some smoothies too.”

Everything would be okay.

_(Early in the mornings and late in the evenings, Phil would leave his treehouse after checking on his children. He would head into the forest, greet the other creatures, before heading to the tree. This is home and he will protect it with every fiber in his being._

_Sometimes, he’ll pop in on the small grove of forest nymphs, the group that would call themselves Sonderlings. They were small but numerous, chattering constantly, some more so than others. They would eagerly greet him, clambering for his attention._

_Other times, he’ll patrol the borders, making sure to strengthen the barriers and illusions to ward off humans and hunters. The outside world is dangerous, cruel, and they were the reason that his kin was gone. He won’t forget their crimes. His memory is good enough that he remembers the day that the forest had first gone up into flames, despite the centuries that have passed since._

_For all that it’s worth, he goes to the tree most frequently. After all, it’s the only thing he has left of his kin. All of their handprints are there, there to remain until the world ends. The day that that tree burn is the day in which he will burn with it._

_This forest is his home and he will damn well protect it._

_It’s his children’s home too.)_

* * *

**7\. Skies, Oceans, and Blueberries** (TW//Depression, Dissociation)

Wilbur has never seen blue before coming to the Overworld.

There are so many things that are blue here in comparison to the red fiery pits in Hell.

The sky is a sprawling light blue, dancing out of reach and blanketing the world in light. It’s comfortable and he often finds himself lying on the ground, staring at the lovely blue color. Sometimes, Phil will find him there and will join him, even occasionally taking him for a flight. It’s very fun.

The ocean is blue and he doesn’t know this until he accidentally teleports away one day. Water was a foreign concept to him, let alone water that he couldn’t drink. The ocean’s waters are salty, far too salty to be consumed, and it takes him a moment to realize that this isn’t a dream. This is reality. He’s out of hell and yet, he finds himself doubting everything around him, wondering if everything is a dream. He doesn’t really believe it, not yet, not until he gets back to the treehouse and talks about it with Phil. He doesn’t believe it, not until Phil confirms him and proves that he’s not dreaming.

The Overworld is different, so much different in comparison to the depths of Hell. He wonders if his life would’ve been different had he never come here, had he remained in Hell, had he never met Techno. He shudders at the thought.

“Wilby!”

He snaps out of his thoughts, looking up to see Tommy and Tubbo beaming at him, their blue eyes glittering with happiness. He smiles. “What do you want now, you gremlins.”

“Phil found more blueberries!” Tubbo chirps. “We’re going to make muffins!”

“I’ll make some of the best muffins!” Tommy boasts.

“That’s assuming you don’t burn everything down,” Wilbur teases, earning a squawk of indignation from Tommy.

They laugh and head back towards the treehouse.

The skies are blue and there’s no more red fog. He’ll be alright, he thinks.

_(On bad days, days where he finds himself trapped in the memories of Hell, he goes into the forest, searching for blueberries. Sometimes he finds them on his own, sometimes nymphs of the forest hand it to him._

_On the bad days, he sits underneath the tree, rolling the blueberries around in his palm, crushing them in his fingers, watching the blue bleed through, staining his skin a lovely sapphire. He uses it to ground himself. To make himself feel numb, to wash away all the shitty emotions that swirl in his chest._

_On bad days, Phil does nothing except wrap his wings around Wilbur, leaving behind a feather as he goes to make Wilbur’s favorite meal for dinner. On bad days, Techno doesn’t swordfight, opting to farm potatoes instead, remaining silent, a sturdy presence. On bad days, Wilbur leaves his trenchcoat behind in his room, opting to tug Techno’s red cloak around him. On bad days, he’ll only allow Tommy and Tubbo near him, the younger boys’ quiet, subdued excitement bursting at the seams as they travel through the forest._

_On bad days, Tommy makes no comment about the blue staining Wilbur’s fingers, opting to drag Wilbur through the forest in search of a lake to watch. On bad days, Tubbo makes no comment about Wilbur’s spacing out, filling the air with aimless chattering as they wander through the forest. Wilbur likes to watch their eyes on the bad days, watch the sky-blue and the ocean-blue light up with joy and happiness._

_They make bad days better.)_

* * *

**8\. Grapes and Sunset** (TW//Graphic Gore, Death)

“You know, wine is made from grapes.”

Karl speaks up as he finishes dinner in George’s hut, causing the young warlock to look up.

“What?” George asks, amused.

“Aged grape juice is wine, basically,” Karl chuckles. “I overheard it from one of the travelers in the western villages.”

“Do you want wine or something?” George grins. “We have grapes.”

Karl grimaced. “Hell no! Wine tastes weird sometimes. I’ll just have the grapes.”

“Suit yourself.”

Karl snatches the fruit from George and heads upstairs, clambering up the ladder to sit on the roof. Unsurprisingly, Sapnap was already lounging on the roof, staring at the sun as it set. Twilight was arriving soon and the ending rays of the sun streaked across the sky.

“Sap?” Karl called. “Want some grapes?”

“Grapes?” Sapnap glanced up. “Sure, I guess.”

Karl sat down next to the demon, handing over some of the fruit, the two eating the purple item as they watched the sun dip behind the mountains, illuminating the sky with pink and violet.

~~He hates the sunset.~~

“Karl? What’s wrong?”

The question is simple. He should be able to answer that. Yet, he can’t find himself answering that question.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just watch the sunset.”

Sapnap is evidently worried but he lets it go. Karl stays silent. They don’t talk about his sudden mood change.

_(The day that the village burned down, Karl had been returning home at sundown from the fields of the outskirts. The sky above the village was deepening from violet to maroon, smoke billowing into the sky. He had screamed, dashing towards his house and rushing inside, searching for his parents and siblings._

~~_The upstairs bedroom on the left was crushed. That was his sibling’s room. There was a body in the kitchen that he avoided. That was his mother. There was a corpse in the flames. That was his father._ ~~ _He didn’t find any of them._

_He had gone to his room, the bedroom on the right, searching for his things. He had grabbed some things, he didn’t remember what, before dashing back out of the house, just in time to escape the crumbling structure. He had met with Chandler outside, the two of them clinging onto each other before reuniting with Jimmy and Chris._

_He no longer liked sunsets._

_His childhood ended at sunset.)_

* * *

**9\. Macarons and Belts**

“How do I make a belt?”

George glances up sharply, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he taps the tin of macarons against the table. Dream was fiddling with a piece of leather at the counter and the human wondered why the demon was asking. “Why do you want to make a belt?”

Dream fidgeted nervously, not answering but George could instantly tell what Dream was feeling. It was a strange ability of the warlock’s, an ability to read people’s emotions like an open book. “You want to make Karl a belt?”

“Shut up!” Dream hissed, his ears flushing red. It was always a tell on whether or not the demon was flustered. “It’s just...I don’t think he likes me very much and you guys both got him something. It’s only fitting if I give him something too.”

George frowned as he slid the macarons into the oven. “Don’t make a belt or something for him out of obligation or pity. That’s unfair. Do it only if you genuinely mean it.”  
Dream blanched.

“Besides, after you made him cry the other night, I will sincerely not be helping you, good sir. Use that big brain of yours to figure it out.”

George is kind but he is also harsh. When it comes to Karl, a human who had hardly any means of defending himself and yet had accepted both demons so easily, George would fight the world for him. Considering how Dream had gotten lectured for hours by Sapnap and himself, George would honestly say that Dream got off lucky.

Kind but harsh. That’s what his mother used to say.

_(“George! Come here, please.”_

_The young boy dashed forward, nearly tripping over his own feet as his floppy hat fell in front of his eyes, blocking his vision. The woman laughed gently, moving the hat back into place as George peered up at her. “Yes, mother? You called?”_

_“Look here.” She held up a cluster of flowers, green in the stem and magenta-violet in the bud. “We call this allium.”_

_He stares at the flower in confusion, not understanding the big deal. She laughs airily and places it on the brim of his hat. “Allium stands for unity. It makes magenta dye if you grind it finely. It’s dangerous to animals but we can touch it just fine.”_

_“Why do you like this flower, mother?”_

_“As I said, little starlight, it stands for unity,” she murmurs, arranging it so that he was in her lap, “it unites our witchcraft community. It’s our symbol.”_

_George frowned, glancing away. “I like that one better.”_

_His mother looked over. “Lavender?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Her smile grew a little strained. “That one means serenity and calmness. I can see why you like it.”_

_He stared at the flower with wide eyes. That one struck out to him._

_It would eventually become his trademark flower.)_

* * *

**10\. Strawberry Slushies and Scars**

**_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_ **

**_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_ **

**_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_ **

“Techno? Mate, you alright?”

Phil’s concerned voice cuts through the haze of his mind and he forces himself to peel his eyes away from the blood that drips from his calf, an aftereffect of accidentally tripping and landing on his hoe. Techno sighs and takes the bandages from Phil’s outstretched hand, beginning the familiar process of patching himself up.

**_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_ **

“Nothing big,” He grumbled. “I just tripped.”

“It’ll scar,” Phil notes, “are you sure you’re alright?”

“Phil,” Techno grins wryly, gesturing to himself, specifically his face. “I’m a magnet for scars at this point. One new scar won’t mean shit.”

Phil frowns but says nothing further on the topic as Techno wraps the white bandages around his leg, the latter grimacing slightly from the pain. “Do you need help standing?”

“No.”

Techno stands up with little difficulty, almost done, and merely winces once or twice as he drags the hoe back towards the treehouse. Phil follows suit, finding himself displeased by this situation.

“Would you like a slushie?” Phil asks quietly. “Niki made some strawberry slushies earlier. I think there’s still a bit left.”

**_OOO SLUSHIE_ **

**_SLUSHIE POG_ **

**_CHILDISH_ **

**_NO_ **

**_YES_ **

Techno was not easily swayed. He’s the king of the demons, after all, and he would never give into something as simple and _childish_ as a strawberry slushie.

“Sure.”

**_CHILD_ **

**_AHAHAHAHA_ **

**_TECHNOCHILD_ **

Shut up, chat.

He takes the cup gingerly from Phil, sipping the pink liquid, relishing the sweetness, and pushing back the disgust that churned in his gut.

“Good?”

**_EW_ **

**_BAD_ **

**_GOOD_ **

**_DELICIOUS_ **

**_CHILDISH_ **

**_TECHNOCHILD_ **

**_BAD_ **

**_GOOD_ **

“It’s better than I expected,” Techno offers, “Chat doesn’t seem to like it though.”

“Chat?” A look of confusion crosses Phil’s expression before he brightens with realization. “Oh, the voices!”

“Yeah. They’re not too fond of sweet things.”

“Well, what do they like?”

“Blood.”

Phil chortles. “Well, obviously. What food?”

Techno nearly spits out his drink from the onslaught of demands from the voices. Phil only laughs brightly as Techno sighs in lament and suffering.

“Here we go again.”

_(There’s a scar on his forearm, a long scratch that is pale by now. Often, when he finds himself troubled, he reaches a hand up to thumb against the scar, using it as a means to ground himself. Memories flash by, memories of a blue-horned demon, a demon that’s been missing for over a decade. His first friend, his first brother, his first loss. He misses the other demon._

_There’s a reason he’s kept his pink hair long. It used to be short, so short, and Skeppy had been the only one around that would cut his hair for him. He vowed, Techno vowed, that until he finds his brother, he’ll never cut his hair. He refuses to let anyone cut it. Nobody can cut it, not Dream, not Wilbur, not Phil. None of them can cut it. They can touch it but he’ll never let them cut it._ ~~_Dream came close. There’s a scar on his neck._ ~~

_There’s a scar on his face, a remnant of his fight against Dream. The cat demon had slashed his claws across Techno’s face, permanently scarring the pink-haired male. He doesn’t like to remember that one._

_His name is Technoblade. He’s the king of the demons_ ~~_and he doesn’t want to be_ ~~ _. He has pink hair. He’s covered in scars from head to toe, pain and memories lingering in each one._

_His name is Technoblade and he’s the Blood God._ ~~_Or so they say._ ~~ _)_

* * *

**11\. Mushrooms and Clouds** (TW//Dissociation)

He’s in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He’s finally left that white room in his mind, coming back to reality to be greeted with the familiar woods of George’s hut. He can hear the clammer in the kitchen below, most likely George and Karl considering that Dream had set fire to the counter last week.

“Sap? You awake?”

His dull golden eyes flick to the left to see Dream standing there, the latter’s ears pointed down with concern. Sapnap didn’t answer. He never answered after his _episodes_.

“Are you hungry?” Dream asks quietly. His mask was gone and his green eyes were lit in concern. When it came to Sapnap, the other demon never wore his mask. It was his way of showing trust. “George made some mushroom soup.”

Sapnap blinked twice lazily before moving his eyes back to the ceiling. He was rather tired.

There was a sound of feet shuffling, most likely Dream rushing off to get food. He wasn’t particularly hungry as he was tired. Seconds seemed to pass by before Dream was watching, holding a bowl of steaming soup. He sat down next to Sapnap, placing the bowl on the side table before helping Sapnap up against the mound of pillows they had ready. Once Sapnap seemed stable, Dream began to spoonfeed the bedbound demon.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dream offered. He always offered.

Sapnap swallowed the soup and blinked once lazily, eyes dull. He always rejected.

They continued the process. After what seemed like hours, Sapnap finally finished the soup. Dream brought the bowl back downstairs and returned with George’s encyclopedia of flowers. Together, the two demons sat together, Dream’s chatter filling the silence that Sapnap left behind. They went through the flowers, one at a time, tracing the features, lingering on the flowers that Sapnap pressed a finger against.

They would be okay.

_(Sometimes, Sapnap had dreams where he was alone._

_He stood in a white room, a blank space, nothing in sight. It’s pure white, blindingly white, and he wonders where he is. Some days, there were corpses littered around. Some days, there were broken weapons. Most days, there was nothing. It was just him and the room, alone as could me, wondering if he had gone insane._

_On the days where he found himself in the room, he would sit down, remove his headband, and wonder. He would wonder how he reached here, what this room meant, where Dream and George and Karl were, what he was doing...he would wonder a lot of things._

_He had always been a naturally curious person after all._

_On those days, he would wake up in a blank state and he would terrify the hell out of the other three. He would stare off in the distance and be completely zoned out. Physically, he was safe in George’s hut in the Overworld. Mentally, he was still trapped in that box within his mind, unable to escape as he wallowed through his thoughts, everything else acting as nothing except white noise._

_He would filter through every mistake, chastising himself, and reminisce over every good memory, smiling fondly. He would do this for hours, never more than a day, and when he finally returned to reality, he would refuse to speak of it and merely cuddle with his friends._

_He’d be fine the next day._

_There was no need to tell them about the scary white room of memories.)_

* * *

**12\. Blackberries and Void** (TW//Insecurity, Self-Loathing)

Eret used to be able to see colors. He can't anymore. He doesn’t know what blackberries are.

It’s been a while on the Overworld and he still finds that he’s struggling. There’s absolutely nothing that he understands and if he ever leaves the fenced property of their cabin, he’s sure that he’ll get lost and then killed by something. How pathetic. One of the top guardians in this state. Absolutely hideous.

It’s hard to even _eat_ on his own and often, one of the others has to guide him. It’s terrible and he finds something within him recoiling at this disgraceful act. He never wanted to be this pitiful and yet, here he is.

“Eret. Try this.”

He snaps out of his thoughts to find something pressing against his lips. He hesitates for a moment before opening it, allowing the sour object to enter. He shivers, swallowing it quickly. “What the hell?”

Fundy’s laughing. “It’s blackberries! Niki and I found some earlier! Like it?”

“It’s sour!”

“Is it?” Fundy’s voice is light. “I don’t find it sour!”

“You’re a bloody fox!”

Fundy laughs again. Eret allows himself to smile.

Pathetic.

_(Sometimes, Eret found themselves falling, falling through the void. They’re screaming, their throat hoarse and lungs empty, but there is no response. They’re falling endlessly, their wings burning with agony, refusing to move. Sometimes, Eret found themselves alone in a black pool, Niki and Tubbo nowhere in sight. It’s terrifying and they don’t know what to do. They curl into a ball and cry, sobbing._

_Sometimes, they wake up to Niki’s soft lullabies, luring them back to sleep. Sometimes, they wake up to Tubbo’s fidgeting, the smaller boy cuddling with them as they sleep. Sometimes, they wake up to Fundy sitting at the edge of the bed, ready to accompany them through a night of nightmares._

_Eret can’t see their friends but they can sense their presence and that’s all they really need.)_

_(Niki laments the loss of the holy brightness from Eret’s wings. Their wings had been a white blanket previously, a soft cover during winter, so bright that it could even blend in with the snow. Now, it’s an infinite black, a black blanket that rivaled the night, allowing Eret to travel absolutely hidden during the night. She wonders why Eret had to suffer for a mere mistake._

_Tubbo is glad that Eret can’t see their wings. Cruel as it sounds, the young angel never wants the elder angel to ever see the void that their wings have become. From the white clouds of heaven to the sprawling void of the night, Tubbo knows that Eret would be absolutely devastated had they ever seen what their wings had become. Tubbo hopes that he won’t be around when Eret discovers the color of their wings. He doesn’t think that he could handle the disbelief._

_Fundy likes Eret’s wings. They’re soft and big, offering a warm cover when he finds himself shivering with cold. Faintly, if he digs back enough, Fundy can recall memories of a temple and a winged humanoid arriving at the temple. It had been winter back then and the humanoid had draped their wings over a younger Fundy. Yet, the more he dug, the fewer memories came up. Fundy opted to leave it be.)_

* * *

> **_“Color is a power which directly influences the soul.”_ **
> 
> _\- Wassily Kadinsky_

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Years, everyone! Welcome the era of 2021, away from this shitstorm we called 2020. I won't go into it but 2020 has been such a hard year for me and the MCYT fandom helped me a lot. ~~Except for the toxic hoes. They can fuck off.~~
> 
> Notes on this one shot:
> 
> 1 - N/A
> 
> 2 - I really liked writing Fundy's part! Probably because I was super hyped to write about Sally rather than Fundy ngl...Vixen is just a background OC based on one of my foxes on the Sondersmp.
> 
> 3 - Angels bleed silver blood!
> 
> 4 - The dolphins were from the second-most recent manhunt (correct me if I'm wrong) where Dream was basically a Disney princess.
> 
> 5+6 - Sonderlings cameo~~
> 
> 7 - Oh man, I loved writing Wilbur's part because I love Wilbur's character and the sheer amount of _potential _he has.__
> 
> __8 - I struggled and my brain coughed some angst backstory in retaliation._ _
> 
> __9 - Struggling pt. 2. Cameo os George's mum??? Man, I was just basing it off of the lavender on his hat in his character design._ _
> 
> __10 - TECHNOPOG. Skeppy mentioning~~_ _
> 
> __11 - Oh, I had such a hard time writing this weeks ago and look at this fabulousness now. I might expand on it in the future._ _
> 
> __12 - Poor Eret. I make him suffer a lot._ _
> 
> __Thank you all for your support! I love you all (/p) and stay healthy + safe my peeps! <3 <3 <3 Here's to a poggers 2021!!!_ _
> 
> __
> 
> __[Feel free to come to yell at me at @ecinue_unicorn on Twitter!](https://twitter.com/ecinue_unicorn) _ _


End file.
